Love Child
by Bondmaiden
Summary: Where Akashi Seijuro finds an otherworldly creature in his office, and it takes the form of someone he dearly knows. AkaKuro/ AU Future-verse
1. some things shouldn't be happening

**A/N: **_i swear this has plot. it's short because they're probably all drabbles. attempting humour is hard. also, The Vindictive Paradise will update tomorrow after my beta has finished raking through my mistakes. :D enjoy. and p/s this is also my attempt in trying to put my smut practices into work bc this doesn't need much plot. sexual kuroko, what else do you need. _

* * *

"I'll suck it out of you like a milkshake."

Seijūrō cocks his brow.

"That's highly suggestive, but expected from an incubus like you."

The creature slinks from furniture to furniture, draping himself over a vanity and curling his pointy tail around a bottle of cologne. Little leather wings twitch as he drops the vial into his palms, examining the tiny writings engraved on the metal. For a second there, he furrows his bottle blue brows and takes a whiff of the glass object before scrunching up his cute button nose. "So this is how you humans camouflage your scent? It's unnaturally pungent."

"Humans do excrete sweat, if you haven't noticed all this while," he replies, running his fingers across piles of paperwork and drawing out a manila folder half-drowned in between. Flicking through the content, Seijūrō squints at something particularly displeasing printed on the pages and smacks it shut once more. "We're not roseate creatures like you, for your information. We do not bleed perfume nor ooze cologne from our pores. You were made for seduction, so you're highly optimized to appeal to your victims, don't you think?"

"… yes, I think so." The creature hums, coquettishly tipping his head to the side and kicking his legs in the air like some vogue American pinup. "Thank you for enlightening me."

"You're welcome."

It's amazing how sane he is, just holding up a conversation with an underworldly creature as if they often drop by his windowsills for a chat, 680 meters up in the air.

"Would you like some tea?" Seijūrō finds himself asking, drawing himself up from his armchair and making his way to a discreet kitchenette behind the many great pillars of his office. "I don't usually offer this to unwelcomed guests, but I'm feeling inexplicably gracious today."

Round thighs with opaque stockings pulled up, obnoxiously tight shorts that barely cover a pert bottom, exceedingly provocative corset top with its laces taut over his arched spine, this sexual creature drifts on the wind over to his side and drapes himself over Seijūrō's shoulders like he's a fur tippet. "That's nice of you, thank you." He hums, peering downwards at the many metal containers of different brands of fine tea, and points decidedly to a shockingly yellow box. "That one. It has a nice smell inside it."

"Oh, so you can tell?" Seijūrō pops the lid open, spooning out the grainy contents and stowing it shut once more. "This is vanilla, not quite my taste, but it was a gift from a friend of mine."

His little toes curl as he inhales sharply at the wondrous scent smoking the air, and exhales a tad bit too breathily near Seijūrō's ear. Warm breath fans over his neck, ghosting over erogenous zones Seijūrō never knew they existed, and the electric shiver shimmying down his spine is purely carnal. "It's my favourite smell, Seijūrō." He leans down, his throaty voice nuzzling Seijūrō's cheek, and smacks his lips wetly like he's finished sucking the sexual life out of his words. "Did you know that vanilla is a natural aphrodisiac?"

The redhead chuckles to himself, drenching the teapot with hot water and clapping the cover over the steam. Does counting to ten work on curbing arousal? "No wonder you're always hungry then."

Oh, how delightful it is when the incubus laughs, tilting his head back like he's tickled down his sides. It's a sweetly ringing sound falling from honeyed lips that kisses all life out of the redhead, a spellbinding song forbidden for others to hear. He presses his chest closer to Seijūrō's back, moistening his lips with a wet pop, and doesn't hide the smile gracing his lips. Seijūrō knows, he can see the catlike mischief in the creature's eyes reflected on his cabinet's glossy surface, but he sweeps it under the rug and carries on with his handiwork.

"Isn't it about time you tell me who you are?" he says conversationally, lifting the teapot and settling it snugly on the silver tray he's kept nearby in case of uninvited guests. "I'm aware that you're an intelligent incubus, seeing that you've found my office in Akasaka, top floor, but playing dress-up at your age is rather shameful. Unless, of course, that's the rudimentary clothing for creatures like you."

Feigning acrid cuteness that smothers Seijūrō like sticky caramel, the incubus latches itself tighter around his shoulders and nudges his cheek against the other. "What are you saying, Seijūrō? You know who I am."

Yes, yes he knows.

But what he can't understand is how did his object of affections suddenly sprout wings protruding from his shoulder blades, wearing clothes that resemble something more like what Mayuzumi Chihiro reads discreetly behind his cubicle, with that spindly tail currently curling around his thigh? It's plainly obvious what he is, an incubus of an erotic nature that makes his interest in Seijūrō as bright as the LED displays in Akihabara, but why on earth would his ex-teammate from Teikō days suddenly pop up by his window in awful cosplay?

Not to mention that those wings do function too.

It's either Kuroko Tetsuya's an accomplished engineer now, or succumbed to a mythical curse that renders him into an incubus.


	2. the root of all evil

**A/N:** _more or less writing practice. it doesn't make sense for now but it probably will be in chapter 3. all of your reviews and comments are helpful, everyone, thanks for always taking the time to submit them! *u*_

* * *

So he has this working theory to explain the thing's presence in his office.

Let's just say that Kuroko Tetsuya had been pining for him ever since Teikō days ended. That's Premise A.

Let's also assume that Kuroko Tetsuya had sexual interest in him, and it tremendously multiplied over the course of years where his ever-able right hand couldn't help him. That's Premise B.

In conclusion, Kuroko Tetsuya's unhealthy sexual tension resulting from his constant pining has manifested into the form of an incubus, and said incubus is religiously sucking off his fingers with wet plops to clean himself from imaginary icing smudges.

How convenient.

Seijūrō goes over the hasty scrawls on his company's budget report and promptly scratches it out. That idea doesn't sound right, or even remotely scientific, no matter what angle he's tried representing it. He's contemplated hitting the buttons and telling his secretary to send Mayuzumi over, but knowing how Mayuzumi watched too many anime and had a sea of light novels stashed in his gym locker back in high school, Seijūrō can't bear the thought of the man coming up with theories more absurd than his. Pulling up a Google search on incubus, black magic, and sexual problems would have probably aided someone who believes in sacrificing a live chicken to an altar on a daily basis, but that's definitely not Seijūrō.

"I won't be a nuisance to you," the creature—Kuroko, he tells himself—says with a bat of his lashes. He's got his fingers laced together under his chin, scrutinizing how Seijūrō sits stiffly in his chair, and languidly floats over on the thin breeze like he's a shred of paper. "But I only need one thing from you," he continues, almost suggestively, and a smile lingers on the corners of his lips. "And that one thing isn't hard, but I need you to be hard for it."

Oh.

_Oh_.

"Your temptations mean nothing to me," the redhead bluntly rebukes, his thin lips twitching. "I've no interest in entertaining your whims or listening to your demands, so you can float right out of the window from where you came in." As if to make a point, Seijūrō busies himself with gathering folders of business minutes and rearranges his collection of fountain pens, starting from scaled rainbows (he nicknamed it Nijimura for obvious reasons) right down to fat, gilded ones that he prefers to use for signatures. Their dainty nibs do wonders for little curls on his insignia, especially when he signs them in romaji.

"But why not?" Kuroko asks, thin and high in a falsetto, now flitting over to Seijūrō's side in just a fraction of second. His hands wrap around the back of the leathery armchair, resting his chin cutely on the redhead's shoulder as his wings flutter to maintain his flight. "You won't complain about it when I'm done, Seijūrō. Just once every night will do. I'm not high maintenance like others."

"No."

"No?" he echoes, sickly sweet.

So sweet, it gags Seijūrō into stunned silence because _the_ Kuroko Tetsuya he knows definitely won't do such a thing, even if he's paid a million grand.

Okay, maybe in milkshakes yes, but no. Nobody's rich enough to do that, except for him. This thing is just using Kuroko's voice and face to seduce, nothing else. As if that'll work in a lifetime, Seijūrō can't help but to scoff at the idea. Pointing to the mahogany double doors adjacent to his table, Seijūrō clears his throat and looks over his shoulder. "If you'd like to make your exit like a proper human, then you can use the doors. It doesn't matter to me, as long as you get out."

"You're unnecessarily mean, Seijūrō."

"You've no right to call me by my name, Tetsuya."

The thing hums methodically, his pointy tail tapping a steady rhythm on his tabletop. "But you call me Tetsuya, so I should be allowed to call you Seijūrō in return."

Oh, so now he's about to get into an argument with a Kuroko duplicate? It seems that their likeliness ends only on physical characteristics, and that's about it. The Kuroko Tetsuya he knows won't push his buttons like this, especially when Seirin's lost their Winter Cup finals against Rakuzan. Ever since then, he's stowed himself into silence and Seijūrō hears little from the shadow, aside from the snippets Ryōta feeds him every now and then in the form of pictures and instant messages. Come to think of it, after the Generation of Miracles went on their separate ways, he's drowned himself in his family's business to the point where he hardly ever spends time with his Yukimaru. That won't do. He'll get right to riding—

"Why don't you let me ride you instead?"

A warm body bundles itself up on Seijūrō's lap, just wedged perfectly in between his desk and chest, and Seijūrō's train of thoughts screech off the tracks, colliding right into a mountain. Like he's trying to make a statement, the insufferable incubus wriggles around, making himself comfortable, and slings his legs over Seijūrō's sides. When clothed groins grind against one another, that's when things got hard. In more ways than one.

"Come on, Seijūrō," Kuroko murmurs, sultry, right into his ear and wraps his arms around Seijūrō's neck like he's a certified lover. "Please don't ignore me. You're making me lonely—"

Three rapid thumps on the door is all the warning Seijūrō gets before a grey mop of hair barged in, weary loafers treading heavily on the polished marble. "Akashi, you have to look at this," Mayuzumi brandishes around a stack of papers, red-rimmed eyes narrowed heavily at the CEO. "These people—"

Then he stops short in his tracks.


	3. tragic anime protagonist alert

**A/N: **_THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS! ;u; will there be plot in the next chapter? hurhurhur~ i hope you guys will continue to enjoy the ridiculous story anyway_

* * *

In another life, Akashi Seijuro would've been a dictator. But no, it's now 20XX, and he's merely the CEO of a company—not far off, but not a big deal either.

"So the great CEO has a thing for his boyfriend cosplaying?"

"No."

Mayuzumi cocks his brow. He makes this roundabout gesture to indicate the wriggling Kuroko Tetsuya on the redhead's lap, and throws the folder on the table. "Okay. So I'm just going to assume that I have to pretend I've never seen this?"

"Considering that you can see him, that's impressive enough on its own," Akashi says, light-hearted, and is that a trace of relief in his eyes? Mayuzumi doesn't even know anymore. What's that supposed to mean anyway? "You've confirmed one of my hypotheses, Chihiro. This isn't the same Kuroko Tetsuya that we fought against during our finals in Winter Cup. And I know this for a fact, because Tetsuya will not do something as disgraceful as this."

Then the thing pouts, childlike. It's not supposed to look cute, but to Mayuzumi, it's like watching a real life moe anime. He could almost _see_ the little throbbing anime veins drawn on the shadow's forehead if it were the case.

"That's mean, Seijuro."

Oh, so they're on that point of the relationship where they go by their first-name basis now?

"You are not Tetsuya, therefore I will not spare you my pity."

Mayuzumi doesn't know whether he should gather his thoughts from a scratch or just go along with their lovers' quarrel. The fact that Kuroko's dressed up in too-tight corset with the ribbons crisscrossed behind his back, and protruding animated bat wings inspired 1001 kinky questions inside Mayuzumi's head, but Akashi's incriminating glare says that if he dares to ask about this, then he'll be demoted to the next janitor guy cleaning the company.

The next best thing to do?

Feigning ignorance.

"I'm just going to go back to my table," he says, shuffling backwards. Grey eyes meet bright blue, the Kuroko that isn't Kuroko is staring at him coquettishly, and then he licks his lips. Oh boy. Mayuzumi doesn't swing that way and this isn't going to be the next Boku no Pico, with how jailbait-looking Kuroko's becoming. "So, uh, Akashi, if you're done looking through the report, hit me up after you're done sorting this out."

Now here's where Mayuzumi probably should've prayed harder to all the shrine gods Japan had to offer. Twenty-five years of his life was wasted on half-assed prayers during the exam period and New Year's Eve, all asking for good grades and enough money to get more anime merchandise (Love Live is his biggest shame, he admits), and he sorely regrets missing out on this year's prayer session. Curse him and his tendency to stay up on the Nico Nico Douga site to watch Utaite idols performing live. Maybe this is divine retribution after all.

"Chihiro," Akashi begins, smoothening out his hands on the table, where Kuroko wriggles a bit more to let his own hand wrap around the redhead's wrist. "Are you familiar with the concept of an incubus?"

"Um." His throat is dry. He's pretty sure his hands are drawing up some weird stuffs in the air again. "If you mean those sexual creatures, then yeah. Succubus go for guys, incubus go for girls." Mayuzumi pauses. His eyes flicker to Kuroko's chest for… _confirmation_ purposes. "You should probably check up on it if you want to get your roleplaying correct."

There's a hard line edging Akashi's voice. His jaw is tight and his smile is too broad to be normal. "You still believe that this is the original Kuroko Tetsuya?"

What's he expected to believe when the _thing_ is sitting right there, smack dab on his boss' lap? At this point, Mayuzumi's inclined to believe that his whole life is probably a seinen manga with his boss as the protagonist of the pages, and Mayuzumi's one of his unimportant faceless workers. Probably the unlucky lackey who got suckered into working together with his notoriously tyrannical ex-captain of Rakuzan's basketball, judging from how his life has been going on. But wait, isn't this _his_ manga to begin with?

So why's he reduced to some side character?

... he certainly hopes he isn't going to be killed off in the future, God no.

The pale-haired boys always get tragic endings, no matter which anime he looked at.

"I'd probably call the real Kuroko Tetsuya, if I were you," Mayuzumi dryly comments, trying to get morbid thoughts of being speared by the incubus' pointy tail if his future as a heroic sacrifice is true. "Want me to grab hold of him?"

A nod of approval from Akashi is all he needs to bolt right out of that door.


End file.
